


Pick Up The Phone

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Chain Letter - Freeform, Disappearances, Gen, High School, Kidnapping, Killing, Mass Texts, Missing Persons, Occult, Phone Calls, Urban Legends, Voicemail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It began with a mass email sent from a dead student's school laptop in 2004: 'Please Don't Open This'. Those who didn't open it were deemed lucky, obedient, worthy of living, but those who did were a different story. The email's contents are unknown to this day but legend says that it only contained a phone number and that the people who called it mysteriously disappeared, but not without leaving a note behind: the number.But what happens when the email begins to circulate again as a text message from a private number? What happens when four high school boys decide to share their fate with the rest of Park County High?





	1. Chapter 1

August 5th, 2017

I don’t really know how to do one of these but I wanted to start making some kind of journal as I go through high school, like a diary, I guess. Well—a virtual diary—these documents are going to kept on my school email, sent to nobody, saved in the drafts or whatever the hell they’re called.

I actually don’t know what to say here but I guess I’ll get used to it the more I write things down. But oh yeah, I started school today which fucking sucks if you ask me, it’s still summer and everyone in P.C High agrees—well, at least I think they do—and back at South Park Elementary, we started school at the beginning of September but I guess that P.C High doesn’t roll that way. Which is cool, I guess, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck.

God dammit, I’m rambling, huh? I mean, I guess this is what it’s for, you know? To talk about your feelings and all that gay shit. Fuck, if the guys knew I was keeping this on my laptop, they’d deck me—even Kyle would, I bet—but oh well, it’s not like it’ll be anything new. I just wanted to let you know what was going on. Psh, whoever ‘you’ are.

Onto the real things I wanted to talk about. I got this text from a private number yesterday and I’ve been too much of a pussy to open it because private numbers are never good: they’re usually scam and evil villains or something crazy and fucking psychotic like the fucking Joker except this time there’s no Batman to stop it.

I told Cartman about it and he wanted me to open it in front of the guys after school today but I’m not to hyped about it, you know? Whatever, I guess, as long as it gets him off my dick. He’s been askin’ be about it nonstop ever since I told him in first hour. Fuck and it doesn’t help that I have every class with him. Shit, here he comes. Hold on, I have to open a new tab or something before he fucking gets here or else my ass is grass.

He asked about it again. Jesus, I didn’t open it and I’m not going to until the guys are there with me because if I’m gonna get cursed, I’m taking the shitsticks I call friends down with me and I’m not even kidding. If the text has some sort of crazy demonic type of stuff in it, we’re all going to hell; not just me.

But hey, I told you that I’d get better at this journal thingy, bet you didn’t believe me huh?

God, I feel ridiculous talking to you like you’re some kinda real person ‘cause I know you’re not, you’re just some fucking text on a screen that tells me whatever the hell I just wrote. I dunno, I guess it gives me some kinda closure that someone’s listening to me rant and ramble about my problems and my fears and my stupid friends. I guess that makes me a wuss, just like good ol’ Leopold Butters Stotch, poor guys gets ripped on every day for still liking Hello Kitty after all these years. Fucking pussy. Damn, this is getting really long.

That’s what she said.

Okay, okay, all jokes aside, I think I might open the text and just look at it for a split second. Fuck, it gives me bad vibes just thinking about doing it. I’ll just wait. Yeah. Waiting sounds better than just risking my life right here and now. Man, I’m scared about what’s gonna happen to me and my friends after all this shit. Will we fucking die? I hope not ‘cause I gotta family to take care of, a sister to raise, an older brother to mourn over.

I don’t wanna die. It’s too fucking soon and plus, I gotta lotta responsibilities I never asked for in the first place and I hate thinking about what Karen’s gonna do if I disappear for good or die because god knows Stuart and mom can’t take care of her. I dunno, it just freaks me out to a point where I’m thinking about deleting it right here without even looking at it. You know what? I’m gonna do it, I’m just gonna delete it and tell the guys that I did it and admit to being a fucking pansy over a text message from some asshole trying to pull smart pranks.

There, it’s gone.

I know I should feel real good about it not being on my phone anymore but something about deleting it didn’t feel right. Fuck, fuck. What if it was a bad idea? Shit, I’m screwed. I’m fucking screwed.

My phone’s vibrating in my pocket and I think it’s the private number again but I can’t just pick up the call in the middle of class or else I’ll get it taken away. Damn, this whole thing don’t feel right. The vibrating stopped and I don’t think that’s a good thing. I’m just gonna check my phone real quick under the table and hope for the best, I guess, but I dunno, it still feels like something is off.

I got a voicemail from a number. Who the fuck has a number like this? 1-666-467-6779? I dunno no one with that number. Damn, it’s just—off putting, and I don’t like it at all but after school? I’m gonna show the guys, we’re gonna listen to it—wait. I got another text message but this time it’s from that number. I’m not gonna open it but the preview says something:

'Meet you in that place where…'

God, fuck, this is giving me a headache and I dunno if it’s from the bad vibes or the brightness of the computer screen but it just—fuck, I shouldn’t have deleted that fucking text message. This shit is linked because the only time that this number called me was like two minutes after I deleted that message. I’m gonna look it up, hold on.

Nothing. I found nothing on the number. I tried searching it up in different countries but the dial pad thingy that ads on the tv do? Like 1-800-PAINTING or something? It’s gotta message: IMSORRY. I don’t fucking like that, I don’t think anyone would.

The bell rang. I’ll update you tomorrow on this shit. I need to go tell the guys and explain what the fuck is happening and try to get some kinda feedback and reassurance that I’m not going fucking insane.

Wish me luck, whoever you are,

Kenny McCormick


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining outside as soon as Kenny McCormick took the first step out the front entrance of Park County High. He pulls his hood up with a sigh, stopping underneath the droplets of rain that stuck to the water-resistant fabric of his worn orange parka and onto the faux fur that hugged his features. Students pushed past him, shoulder-checking him as they walked by as if telling him without words to start moving his ass and not just stand there like a brick wall the flood of kids maneuvered around. The sky was dark and lightning struck not too far off in the distance: a thunderstorm, fantastic. He groaned and continued his path along the sidewalk towards the courtyard where he and his friends had planned the rendezvous to reveal the mysterious text; he couldn’t help but wonder why it had to be him to receive it and not one of the other guys. Maybe God hated him, he couldn’t really tell, and even if that sick bastard did, it wouldn’t really change anything.

“Kenny!” Fuck, here we go. The blonde shoved his hands in his pockets, gripping his iPhone 5 tightly in his gloved hands, hoping that the three other boys had forgotten about why they had agreed to meet in the courtyard in the first place. “Fatass told us you got some creepy ass text and we wanna see it.” No such luck, damn. Kenny could run off right now and never turn back but a small voice in the back of his mind reasoned with him by begging him to stay so he shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably before nodding.

“Yeah,’ He drawled out nervously. “I kinda—”

“You deleted it, didn’t you?” Eric asks, raising a skeptical brow.

“Yeah. I deleted it.’ The McCormick admits right off the bat, showing no resistance or effort to lie.

“Goddammit, dude!” Eric whined, “I wanted to see it.”

“Well, I got a fucking voicemail and another text after I deleted it,” Kenny grumbles, looking away in what seemed like a shame though it was mostly anger at himself for pussying out on the guys after all they’ve been through but really, who could blame him? The message could’ve been from some creepy old guy who drinks the blood of children with every meal and eats flesh for dinner. He shivered at the thought before violently pushing it back and tearing the hand that held the cursed device out of his pocket. “See? Look.” He grumbled. “I didn’t open it because I got freaked out and it was in the middle of class.”

“Told you he was a pussy.” Eric says quietly and Kyle reluctantly hands him a five-dollar bill.

“I’m not a fucking pussy, guys, I just hate private numbers because of all the shit that’s been going on lately with the disappearances.”

Eric scoffs before taking the phone from Kenny’s hand. “But this isn’t a private number, dumbass. The numbers right here, see look: one, eight hundred, four, six, seven, six, seven, seven, nine.” He shoves the phone into Kyle’s hands, letting him see the number first. “I don’t know anyone with a number like that but it don’t seem creepy to me.”

“Yeah, dude, and you didn’t even listen to the voicemail, what’s the worst that could happen?” Stan quizzes with a raised brow, skeptical of Kenny’s logic and reasoning.

Kenny couldn’t believe what he was hearing but at least Kyle had managed to stay quiet throughout this and he was silently grateful for that. “The worst that could happen?” Kenny almost shouts, “The worst that could fucking happen is that I could disappear and no one hears from me for the next month or two until they find my fucking body floating around somewhere at the bottom of Stark’s! I’m being serious, I don’t trust this voicemail or this number. Just give me back my phone.” He grumbles, reaching over as Kyle hands the phone to Stan, intercepting the hand-off, only to have the device snatched from his gloved hands.

“Nope, we’re listening to the voicemail, no matter how superstitious you are.” Eric held the phone above his head as Kenny tried to get it back from him. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.” He hums triumphantly as the McCormick boy gives up with a huff as he crosses his arms over his chest in his defeat and annoyance.

“You ready, McCormick? Broflovski? Marsh?” Eric asks with a grin.

“No.” Kenny grumbles.

“Yeah.” Kyle says quietly and the blonde’s vision flickers over to look at him. His features were paler than normal and his forest green eyes were dull, his gaze locked on the phone in Eric’s hands. “I’m ready.” He mutters and takes a slight step closer to the bigger boy. Kenny’s brows furrow and he opens his mouth to speak only for nothing to reach the tip of his tongue in his confusion.

“I guess.” Stan replies with a shrug, seen from the McCormick’s peripheral, but Eric pressed start before he could say anything else.

“Hello.” A female voice says. “I’m calling to make sure that you received our gift this morning. It was delivered at your house not too long ago and would appreciate your feedback. Thank you, for being a member of the Pleasant Society.”

“Wow. Pleasant Society, good job Kenny.” Stan snorts, “Sounds really fucking terrifying, let me tell you.”

“Don’t be a dick, dude.” Kyle interrupts suddenly, “Did you check at your house to see what the gift was?” He asks, looking over at Kenny with a panicked expression written all over his features.

“No, why—”

“Good. Listen, I need to go home, my mom’s been up my ass lately about doing my chores, I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”

“Kyle—” Stan begins but the ginger cuts him off.

“Just go and see whatever the fuck the Pleasant Society is talking about when they say ‘gift’.”

“Whatever that was about, damn, guess he’s a pussy just like you, huh, Kenny?” Eric laughs, nudging his best friend with his elbow only to receive a frown, “Oh come on, lighten up, me and Stan will even go with you to see whatever the fuck this gift thing is.”

Kenny hesitates for a short second before nodding, “Alright, fine, you guys come with me, but whatever the hell it is? I’m not opening it, one of you are going to.”

“Pussy boy.” Eric bellows and Kenny ducks his head before he could throw an arm around his shoulder and put him in a chokehold to rub at his head with his knuckles.

“Shut the fuck up, fatass.” Stan defends with a roll of his eyes. “If he doesn’t want to open it, then he doesn’t want to open it, just lay off, man. I don’t even blame him for being freaked out about this kinda shit.”

“Oh?” Eric questions before chortling in dark humor, “You’re gonna pussy out like Kyle too, Stan?” He asks, challenging the football star’s manliness.

Stan scoffs in return, “No, I’m just saying.” The three leave school grounds and walk over to the station to wait for the bus that took all the South Park kids home—well, the ones who didn’t have parents that went out of their way to go and get them or the ones who didn’t have a car of their own—and Kenny leans against the structure, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and an old lighter. “Knowing our town? Things can get crazy fast.” Stan finishes with a yawn.

Kenny ignites the flame and lights his cigarette before taking a long, well needed, drag from the nicotine stick to get his fill of cancer. “And no matter what you say,” He tells Eric with a glower, “I’m not going to open it ‘cause I’d rather risk my reputation than to risk my life.” He grumbles as the bus arrives and he snuffs the ashes before putting the cancer stick back in his pocket though he had only taken one hit off of it to his addicted dismay.

The three get on and sit at one seat in the front after shoving past a multitude of other kids trying to get home and, though they were uncomfortably close, it was still better than walking.

The blonde knew that things could get worse than they already were. The bus squealed as it began to move, the brakes resisting against the acceleration. Kenny heaved a sigh, this was lame and all three of the boys knew it, he could just tell by the looks on their faces. 

Stan was the first to speak as the bus finally pulled forward with a little more effort on the gas, “So, what do you guys think’s in the gift bag or box or whatever?’ He asks, raising a brow, trying to make conversation between the three boys. Eric and Kenny groaned collectively and shook their heads. The Marsh boy deflated and sighed, “Just tryna spike up a debate.” He grumbles. 

Eric snorted, “Since when did you care about debates?” He asks, leaning forward and looking at the noirette who sat by the window. 

Stan shrugged in response and looked out at the passing scenery, “I don’t.” 

“B. S.” Eric accused, “You never gave a shit about debates before you met Wendy—” 

“Wendyl.” Stan corrects with a glower. 

“Yeah, yeah, Wendy, Wendyl, whatever, since  _it_ came into your life after leaving South Park for almost five years, you’ve been up it’s ass and trying to please it.” 

“Dude, don’t call Wendyl an ‘it’.” Kenny grumbled, looking down at his gloved hands. 

Eric threw a confused glance at his best friend before his hazel eyes slit into a glare, “You’re not gonna have my back on this one, Kenny?” He asks, challenging his friend’s loyalty to him. 

“No, I’m not.” Kenny says firmly, finally looking up to meet his blue gaze against blood red eyes, “Just because Wendyl transitioned after being gone for so long, doesn’t mean you have to be a dick about it. He’s a nice guy.” 

“Wendyl was born a  _chick_ , dude. No vaginas allowed in our fucking bathroom, the  _men_ _’_ _s_  bathroom.” 

“You got a fucking problem with Wendyl being trans, fatass?’ Stan suddenly asks, his blue eyes daggers as he glared at the bigger boy that was on the other side of the McCormick. 

“Yeah.” Eric admits, his words a snarl, “Maybe I do. What’re you gonna do about it, huh?” 

Stan almost stood up but the sudden jerking of the bus coming to a stop kept him seated. “If you’re going to be trans-fucking-phobic and homophobic just because I like Wendyl as more than a friend—” 

“Oh, watch out guys, Stanley Randall Marsh finally admits he’s gay but what a shocking turn of events!” The brunette pretended to be an announcer at a big hockey game, “It’s actually not for the infamous Kyle Broflovski!” The doors to the bus opened and kids began to stand up and flood off the bus. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Stan growled. 

“Guys, can you stop? We’re gonna get kicked off the bus—” 

“This doesn’t involve you.” Eric cut in, “Fucking traitor, that’s what you are Kenny, not taking my side. Jesus, I never should’ve trusted you.” 

Kenny’s upper lip pulled back into a sneer and he threw a punch without a second thought, he hated being degraded and humiliated in front of people, especially a whole school bus full of kids. “You know what?” He bellowed, “Maybe I’ll open that gift and, just maybe, get murdered because we all know that you’ll be better off without me, a traitorous douchebag.” 

“What the fuck, dude?” Eric asked, holding his cheek as he moved his jaw. Everyone knew that the McCormick had a mean left hook and that he wasn’t afraid to use it. Kenny couldn’t help but feel the twinge of guilt that struck his gut. “What did I do to you?” He asks, genuinely confused. 

“What didn’t you do? To me? To fucking humanity? Jesus Christ, dude.” The blonde stood up as the last kid in line passed them and he followed them out of the bus and the doors closed behind him.  

He could hear the commotion from inside of the bus but didn’t bother to look behind him. “Open the fucking doors, bitch, I need to go after my friend.” Eric’s voice hissed. Kenny shook his head and shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket, his fingers brushing against the phone that rested within the fabric. The image of smashing his phone against the cement was vivid as his hands close around the device and he pulls it out. 

“No.” He mutters to himself despite his tight grip on the iPhone, “I can’t.” The struggle was as real as it would ever get when it would come to deciding and before he could change his mind, he shoved it back into his pocket and quickened his pace. He had gotten off the bus near what used to be Mr. Slave’s house before he moved out with BGA and went to Vegas to get married only to never return. Back in seventh grade, there were theories formed by the boys that said they had gotten murdered but on the other half of the spectrum, the girls had suspected they were living a wonderful domestic life with children of their own despite both being men. 

The slapping of shoes against the pavement didn’t set off any alarms while the blonde walked, his hood up and a scarf wrapped around his neck to cover his mouth. It wasn’t until a hand grabbed his shoulder that he grit his teeth and swung around, ready to throw hands if it came down to it. He didn’t want to talk to Eric, not after he admitted to being transphobic.  

Kyle skipped back after the McCormick swung around, knowing his reflexes enough in an attempt to dodge them. He gave a shaky smile, “Hey, Kenny.” 

The poor boy blinked before his brows furrowed and he raised a brow. “Kyle?” His words came out muffled by the fabric. Pulling the scarf down and away from his mouth, he spoke once more, “What’re you doing here? I thought you were gonna go home.” 

“Listen to me Kenny,” His words were quick, hushed, “Don’t open that ‘gift’, it’s a fucking curse.” 

“What’re you—” 

“Just trust me, okay?” His emerald green eyes were hopeful but worried and dull all at the same time. The sight made the McCormick uneasy and he shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. “And the Pleasant Society isn’t what you think it is. It’s—it’s some kind of cult and they’re out to get me.” Kenny had never seen the Jew so paranoid before but before he could open his mouth to continue speaking, he cut him off again, “I did some research on it and came up with nothing but that fucking number and a few newspaper articles about missing kids.”  

“Kyle, are you feeling okay?” Kenny asks finally, his eyes blown wide while he watching the Broflovski take off his backpack and rummage through it. 

“No.” Was his only response and with a maniacal laugh, he pulls out a folder marked with the words ‘Animal Science’ across the front in nice handwriting underneath the red scribbles. The white folder had been renamed, ‘The Pleasant Society’.  

“Kyle—” 

“Here, take it, okay? Don’t—don’t go looking for me because I need to get out of here.” He was speaking too quickly for the blonde to make out his words thoroughly. “It’s all you need to know.” His breathing quickened before he went completely still. 

It wasn’t like the ginger to act this way and it made his stomach churn. Blue eyes refocus on his shorter friend, “Kyle?” He was looking past him and off into the distance. 

“I have to go.” He whispers, his voice wavering as if he were on the verge of tears.  

“Kyle, wait.” The poor boy placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“No, Kenny. They’re coming to get me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” 

This sent chills down Kenny’s spine and he dropped his hand. “I don’t understand.” He murmurs. 

Kyle gave a smile but his green eyes bore into blue ones in a way that disturbed him, “Don’t open the gift.” His words were cold and emotionless before he turned on his heels and began to walk away. 

"Kyle!" He couldn't move his feet to go after his friend, something about his last words shook him to his core and he couldn't find it within himself to get out of the paralyzed state his fear had dragged him into. The ginger didn't reply and only kept walking down the street, disappearing beyond the snow piles that had been shoved in front of the entrance of the playground. Something was off and as soon as everything went still, he bolted after Broflovski like his life had depended on it, reaching behind him and shoving the folder into the open pocket of his backpack before sloppily closing it in hopes that his stuff would remian intact.

And in a way, it did.

"Kyle! Where are you going?!" Kenny McCormick was always encouraged to try out for track and field, he could blow the hundred meter yard dash in less than half a minute and blow school records if he was willing to try but his family held him back from the opportunities that were handed out to him like free flyers for a church banquette. "Kyle!" He could barely see the silhouette of his friend and the faster he ran, the farther away the Jew began to get. Maybe he wasn't as fast of a runner as he thought he was. "Goddammit! Answer me!" He shouted into the distance.

The blonde didn't notice the snow begin to fall until wind whipped at his face and the ice particles bit at his cheeks and the tips of his nose. As he ran, he pulled his hood up and placed the scarf's brown fabric back over his mouth before yanking on the pull strings to his parka. He couldn't yell after him anymore, the scarf would only muffle his feeble attempts to bring the other's attention back to him but it didn't stop him, "Kyle!" 

He skidded to a stop as he approached the treeline to the Lost Forest. He hadn't realized that he had managed to chase after what seemed like an illusion all the way across town. South Park Elementary stood in his baby-food-yellow glory, towering over him in its own prison-like state. The hazard sign the hung before the forest was spraypainted over with a eerie looking smiley face. He doubled over, his gloved hands resting on his knees as he tried to breathe, the scarf making it difficult as a sudden burning feeling crawled its way up his spine. He needed to take his jacket off and throw himself in the snow. Shaking away the feeling, he threw his hood back and pulled the scarf down from his mouth and took a deep breath to soothe his aching lungs.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and the sudden blaring of police sirens scared the soul out of him and he thought of disappearing in the trees like Kyle had but stopped short when he recognized the _COPS_ intro theme song that played afterward: his phone was ringing. 'Bad boys, bad boys, whatchu gon' do, whatchu gon' do, when they come for you—'

"Hello?" Shit, he had forgotten to check the caller ID again. He pulled the phone away from his face to look really quick but froze once more at the sight of the private number. Hesitantly, he put the device back to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello. My name is Liz." Came a robotic and calm voice that spoke softly yet aggressively, "It seems that you have not opened our gift that has been delivered to you. It is a shame, really, Kenny." He blinked when he heard his name. 

"Kenny? Kenny— no, don't— don't open the gift!" A panicked voice asked from the other end and his stomach dropped.

"Kyle? Holy shit, Kyle is that you?" He asked, anxiously awaiting his answer only for the call to drop dead in its tracks.

Taking a final look back at his hometown, he disappeared into the trees. "Kyle!" The blonde called, his phone tucked in his jacket pocket.

Everything seemed to be moving so quickly, it was only this morning that he had received the voicemail, the text— he had forgotten about the text from the IMSORRY number. Hesitating on slowing his pace for a few short seconds, he came to a stop and opened his messages. He didn't delete that, it was just the voicemails that he had been too freaked out upon seeing.

'Meet you in that place where. . . '

Kenny held his breath as he opened it.

' . . . The lost can never be found. '

He swallowed hard, it was a trap. No one gets found in the Lost Forest: once you're gone, you're gone. He didn't notice it when he began to hyperventilate, he'd been tricked, brought into the forest for nothing. Kyle was probably dead and there was nothing he could do about it but turn back. It was eerily quiet as soon as he turned around and he could've sworn that he'd seen a figure move behind a tree in the distance. He should've read the text before recklessly entering the forest, he should've caught Kyle before he started to walk off, he should've—

Tears spilled down his cheeks, he didn't want to die and so he ran, just like he had before, sprinting in the direction on which he came. Hopefully, whoever it was that was hunting him down couldn't catch him at his full speed. There were noises all around him, the ruffling of trees, the howls of wolves and coyotes, and most noticeably, the pursuing sound of shoes on the forest floor.

Maybe he was wrong, they did seem to be fast enough.

Bursting through the trees, police sirens blared and his phone vibrated along with the theme song. He answered the call, knowing it was going to be the murderer or kidnapper or whoever it was that wanted him to perish for his constant use of the cringe-worthy and ironically not funny 'uwu's and 'xD's.

He grinned at the analogy but the expression faded as the robotic voice known as 'Liz' began to speak, "Thank you for co-operating with us, we will send another package as soon as we get your imput and feedback about our welcoming gift. Thank you, for being a member of the Pleasant Society."

Who opened the gift?

His question was answered by the sound of an imcoming call and Kenny glanced at the caller ID before answering. "Hello—"

"Dude, what the fuck, I knew you were into some freaky shit but really?" Eric's voice asks.

"Man, Kyle said not to open that shit."

"Well, I came to the shitshack you call a house with Stan but your faggot ass wasn't here so were just opened it ourselves since you got off the bus so fucking pissy."

"For a good reason."

"A good reason, my ass, now get the fuck over here, I need to show you what this Pleasant Society has in-store for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fucking shit guys, @The_Divine_Fool gave me kudos on my story and I'm so proud of myself for reaching their standards when it comes to fanfiction? Asdghig I wanna update more because of them.  
> God bless America.


	3. Chapter 3

August 5th, 2017 — 5:56 p.m.

 

It's me again. I would've saved this for tomorrow to keep it a daily thing but shit has gotten a lot worse since my last entry. Kyle disappeared and I think it's my fault, Jesus, what am I saying? He ran into the forest and got lost, that's all that I could possibly say— I tried to go after him, I really did! Fuck, I hope he's alright.

But that's not what I came here to tell you about.

The thing with the phone number? It's called the Pleasant Society. I'm supposed to be at home and seeing what fatass and Stan did with my fucking package but I'm sitting in the church typing away at my phone just like any other Southern All-American piece of shit. What? That joke was funny and I'm not going to explain it because that ruins the joke so I'm going to let that one hang there because it's goddamn hilarious.

Millenials? Fucking douchebags.

Anyways! Back onto the topic, so I'm sitting in the church looking through this folder that Kyle gave me before he ditched town and got lost and it's about a bunch of kids going missing and there's all these news articles from like 2004 about a spam email that went around and an occult that was supposedly involved. But get this, the cult in the clippings that Ky probably stole from the library? Have the Pleasant Society written all over them.

There's a survivor out in Denver who's in a mental facility locked up for going batshit crazy after escaping. His name is Alan Jones. He's paranoid and shit and can't sleep, like ever. Psh, sounds like Denver's own Tweek Tweak. Damn, Tucker's gonna kick my ass if he finds out I said that about his 'so-important-boyfriend-that-I-quit-football-to-make-him-stop-worrying'. Fucking bitch.

But this kid, is was born in the 90's but that's all that's said about him. He refused to tell the police what the occult members looked like and almost killed himself during an interrogation. Cops really don't know how to do their jobs if you ask me but then again, that's none of my business. 

Eric's probably going to become one when we get older.

Bet.

I don't fucking know about this occult stuff, I'm just tryna live my life and get a good job and girlfriend or whatever and be happy. I don't want to get involved with this kinda shit; not after what happened when I was little.

I should probably get out of the fucking church before the priest tries to do anything to me but I'll talk to you tomorrow and I'm really sorry that this one is short, fuck, I just don't have that much to tell you besides the folder stuff but I'll bet tomorrow is gonna have a lot of shit happening.

Wish me luck, whoever you are,

Kenny McCormick

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the hell, where the fire burns hot, and the plotlines just get hotter.


End file.
